


Body and Soul

by Pepperup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Drarry, HP: EWE, Head Injury, Healer Harry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inappropriate Erections, Injury Recovery, Insomnia, Light Angst, M/M, Massage, Massage Therapist Harry, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, UST, Work In Progress, Workplace Sex, medic harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperup/pseuds/Pepperup
Summary: Draco tried not to moan, but gods, how was it that Potter, the clumsy baboon who tripped his way into most of his good fortune, knew how to touch like this? With such precision and strength and intuition.Aka, In which Harry Potter is a magic therapy healer and Draco has chronic issues that only Harry Potter can heal...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I recently took a small trip down memory lane, reading a bunch of old drarry's that first got me into slash and now, goddamn it, I'm all in. Again. Sigh... 
> 
> AND THEN, I met Tom Felton a few times O.O and my brain died. How is this my life...? Seriously... I wont go into detail but he called me darling so I can die happy now...

The door jingled when Draco walked in.

Despite his expectations of being immediately mauled by a handsy Harry Potter, Draco was instead met by a small, sunny waiting room, decorated tastefully in tropical greens. To soothe, Draco supposed, but still, he was surprised by the lack of Gryffindor colours.

A receptionist sat neat the door, sorting through files.

Draco had to clear his throat to get her attention.

"You must be Draco Malfoy," she said glancing up at him. She knew the answer, of course, Draco could see the recognition in her eyes. Not to mention that she'd have to have been living under a rock to not know his face or name after the war. Merlin knew it had been slandered in every paper printed since then.

"Yes," he said anyway, indulging her clueless act. "I have an appointment at noon."

She nodded and handed him a form.

"I just need you to sign this release form and I'll let Mr. Potter know you're here."

Draco glanced over the release, only half taking in the words before signing it.

He took a seat by the windows, relishing in the early summer sun as he waited. His hip ached from the pressure but his heart was drumming up such a beat, that for once he was distracted from it.

He wanted to be furious with himself for the obvious nerves but the last time he'd seen Harry Potter, it had been across a sea of faces that wanted to take away his freedom and punish him for a life that he hadn't even wanted. And the time before that was amidst the wreckage of war, grief and bodies everywhere, the time before that there was fire and suffocating fear, Potter's heart pounding against his chest, and before that—

"Draco."

Draco started, heart leaping into his throat as Potter strode into the room. He was the same overwhelming presence all at once, draped in simple white healer's robes. That brazen confidence oozed off of him in the way he walked, the way he said Draco as though that was normal and to be expected. His hair was still the untidy mop of jet black, dark enough to shine like cold metal. His iris' were still so bright that it looked unnatural; like a tropical plant had climbed into his head and come into bloom behind his eyes.

"Sorry to make you wait," he said.

Draco stood. He had to swallow before he could speak.

Still, he didn't trust his voice and only nodded.

Potter's lips pursed slightly and he turned, gesturing for Draco to follow him. Draco did, relieved that Potter wasn't facing him enough to catch his limp.

"We'll be in this room," he said, holding it open for Draco to enter ahead of him.

Draco did and had to dig his heels into the tiles to stop himself from turning tail and running.

He was sure the dim lights and soft music were intended to calm clients, but the bed rather ruined the effect for him.

Was he really planning on laying down on it and letting Potter, of all people, touch him?

How on earth had he allowed himself to be talked into this?

The door clicked shut behind him and Draco's shoulders tensed even more.

He turned slowly to look at Potter. The other man was watching him with an infuriating calmness. As though Draco was just any new client that he didn't know previously. Someone that he'd never fought with or flew with or—

"So what is you reason for coming here?" Potter asked and Draco bristled.

"You're a healer, aren't you?" Draco sneered. "Should be obvious I didn't just come for a chat. I need healing."

Potter stared at him, took a slow breath and nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "I am a healer and I ask all of my clients that. Like you said, I assume you came here for a reason. You have something bothering you, or something difficult to heal that your average potion or spell isn't working for? Something you feel needs a more therapeutic touch?"

Draco's cheeks heated as Potter spoke and he swallowed down any and all snide comments that were aching to burst from his lips.

He was here for a reason and he had already come this far and, truth be told, he couldn't keep on like this. The pain was too much. It was interfering with his life.

"Why don't you have a seat and we can talk?" Potter suggested.

Draco perched uneasily on the edge of the bed and waited.

"So what does bring you here today?" Potter asked and this time he sounded genuinely curious.

Draco supposed Potter must know that only something big would bring him into this particular clinic.

"I've been having a few chronic issues," Draco finally mustered the nerve to say, choosing not to look at Potter as he did. "Sleep deprivation, tension..."

He wanted to add anxiety but it already felt like he was saying too much, putting too much on display.

"I'd like to get off the sleep potions." And calming draughts. And pain potions.

Potter nodded, like that would be no problem and Draco forced himself to go on.

"And a few months back," he added, attempting nonchalance, "I was in an accident... I received blunt force trauma to the right side of my body. Fractured the skull, collar bone, shoulder, hip."

Again, he wanted to add more and also suck the words right back in at the same time. He wanted to fix everything, he did, but... why Harry Potter? Why was he the only magic therapy healer willing to take Draco? Why was he the only one not to give him the run around? More importantly, why did he have to be the only one that Draco believed would keep all of this quiet?

Finally, he looked at Potter, who still hadn't responded.

He was frowning at Draco thoughtfully.

"I didn't hear about that."

Draco shrugged.

"It happened at home," he said. "We managed to keep it quiet."

"What kind of treatment did you undergo at St. Mungo's?" Potter asked.

"We had a private healer come to the house," Draco admitted. "I didn't want to be seen at the hospital."

Potter nodded his understanding and Draco went on.

"He did brackium emendo for the bone that could be repaired and skelegrow for what couldn't."

Potter winced.

"Both unpleasant, but normally without side effects if they're done and used properly. I take it you still have problems with the areas?"

Draco nodded.

"A lot of pain," he admitted. And moments of fogginess, disorientation, mood swings that he had no control over whatsoever, not that he had admitted that to anyone.

"May I?" Potter asked approaching him.

Draco felt like an animal caught in a trap as Potter neared.

He wanted to lash out as Potter reached for him but forced every muscle in him to remain still as the other man gently touched Draco's right temple.

Again, Draco's heart felt caught in his throat. Potter was too close, by far. Face frowned in concentration, eyes glued to the motion of his hand as it brushed, far too gently, the strands of his hair.

And then Draco felt it, as gentle as Potter's touch; magic, tickling his scalp and flowing deeper, to where, Draco didn't know.

His eyes fell shut. A soft shiver traveled his spine.

"I can definitely do something about this," Potter said gently and when Draco opened his eyes, he was embarrassed to see that Potter was watching him now, square in the face.

Draco's defenses rose so fast that it made his ears ring.

"We'll see," he said coldly.

Potter dropped his hand from Draco's hair and stepped back, lips pursed again and eyes unreadable.

"Alright, I'll go get my supplies," he said. "I'll need you to undress and lay face down on the table while I'm gone."

Draco's face heated and he spluttered in an entirely undignified way, raising to his feet.

"You expect me to lay here in the buff waiting for you?" he finally demanded. "With my arse in the air?"

His voice sounded too high for his liking but Potter's cheeks turned alarmingly red and he shook his head frantically.

"No, no, you can keep your pants on of you'd like," he said.

"Oh, well--"

"And I want you under the blanket."

They blinked at each other a few times in awkward silence while Draco attempted to wrap his mind around this.

"Draco, have you ever had a massage before?" Potter asked uneasily.

Draco frowned. Pansy use to sit behind him in the dorms and rub his shoulders sometimes, but somehow Draco didn't think that was what Potter was referring to. For someone to work in a job that required them to rub other people's bodies all day long, well, that sounded like a muggle thing, to say the least.

"No, Harry," he spat, emphasizing the name. "I haven't."

Potter's calm, professionalism finally broke, exposing the first trace of authentic emotion since Draco's arrival.

"Look," he growled.

His voice sent a spike of familiarity straight through Draco like a familiar lance.

"I know we have history."

Draco snorted.

"But you came here, to my clinic and I let you in and you're not going to make me regret it or treat you badly. You sure as hell are not going to make me treat you any differently than I do any of my other patients."

He took a step forward threateningly and Draco wondered whether he should ask if Potter physically intimidated all of his other clients too but just managed to keep his mouth shut.

"Now please, get undressed and lay down, Draco."

Draco swallowed and after a long, tense moment, he nodded.

"Not a problem," he said lightly.

Potter nodded and swiftly turned and left.

For a full minute, Draco tried to calm his racing heart. Deep breaths, he had been told multiple times, would help.

He tried and yet again found that little bit of advice to be absolute rubbish.

Hands shaking, Draco unclasped his robes and then his shirt, folding both neatly and placing them on the shelf provided. His trousers fell to his feet next and he realized he'd forgotten his shoes and socks on.

Draco bent down and struggled to take them off as quickly as possible with the threat of Potter walking in to find his nearly naked arse waving in the air.

Finally he got them free and kicked the remainder of his clothes off, sticking them haphazardly next to the rest of his belongings in case Potter walked in before he was ready.

He got under the blanket as though he was being chased and let out a sigh of relief once he was hidden.

This was ridiculous.

Draco was never self conscious of his body normally, but the idea of Potter seeing it in all its glory was nearly enough to make him start sweating.

There's no way Potter was going to look at him without picking him apart, bit by bit, like he always had.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Draco stiffened as he heard it creak open.

"Are you ready?" Potter asked.

Draco swallowed and steeled himself for the inevitable.

"Yes," he said, voice muffled by the head rest.

He heard the tell tale signs of Potter's entrance, the soft clip of his shoes against the floor coming closer and then, nothing.

"About earlier," Potter said from above him, sounding calm again and regretful. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like there was nothing between us. If you're more comfortable with me calling you Malfoy, then that's what I'll do."

Draco wanted to brush the comment off, act aloof and uncaring but something about being spread under his former rival, pretty much naked, made him mumble a simple 'thank you,' instead.

A moment later, a warm hand landed between Draco's shoulders, nearly making him jump out of his skin.

"You're not breathing," Potter said softly, pressing down gently on the spot. "Try to relax."

He didn't wait for Draco to do as he was told before continuing.

His hands moved, over the blankets, pressing deeply into Draco's muscles, fingers landing, Draco guessed by some sort of spell, directly into muscles he hadn't even known were tense to begin with.

When his hands moved to Draco's shoulders, his body gave in to Potter's request with no input from his mind whatsoever. It was impossible to not sink into the touch. His eyes practically rolled with pleasure and Draco almost wanted Pansy here if only so she could see what a real massage looked like.

Slowly, the sure grip shifted, first to the balls of Draco's shoulders where the pressure was almost too much to bare on his injury. Luckily, Potter only lingered there a moment before his hands moved again, lower this time, following on each side the ridge of his spine, muscles giving under the deep pressure.

Draco tried not to moan, but gods, how was it that Potter, the clumsy baboon who tripped his way into most of his good fortune, knew how to touch like this? With such precision and strength and intuition. Draco was forced to remember Potter in mid air, snitch in hand and had to concede that maybe coordination was the one place that Potter didn't lack for anything.

And then the moment of comfort slid away, along with the sheet sliding down his body, exposing him.

"What are you doing?" Draco squeaked.

He tried to sit up but Potter held him back down with a gentle palm on the flat of his bare back.

"I wanted to check your hips," he said. "You said one received a big impact as well?"

Draco couldn't speak, too choked by the sensation of Potter's breath brushing his bare skin, his hand like a spark of electricity in the small of his back before it drifted away.

"The right one, right?" he asked and the sheet slid a little bit lower, that soft breeze blowing across his lower back.

"Its fine!" Draco finally managed to choke.

He swallowed, felt the way Potter's hands stilled where they were carefully folding the excess fabric and forced himself to go on.

"It's fine, my hip is fine," he said. He was quite aware that he was babbling, unwilling and unable to control it as long as he managed to stop Potter. Now. "It's just my shoulder. Actually, no, it's just my head, my head is sore. That's the only spot you need to touch."

There was a pause. A long moment of stillness in which the soft flute music that had seemed like background noise was suddenly blaring.

Finally and without any more being said, Potter slid the sheet back up, all the way to its previous place, across Draco's shoulders. 

Draco could hear Potter's inhale and then the slow release of breath as his hands landed on the back of his neck as though there was no interruption.

Draco was relieved but there was no ignoring what had happened. His discomfort was higher than it had been since setting foot in this place. He regretted being here more than he could say. He felt like a fool. He felt weak. Surely his little limp wasn't that bad. Surely the pain wasn't really keeping him up at night...

"Breathe, Malfoy," Potter said softly. "If it helps, concentrate on matching mine."

Like Hell Draco was going to breathe with Potter. How did he convince anyone that this little naked act he was pulling was actually intended to help anyone? How, when it was all so intimate and nude and... and Draco felt it again like a refreshing tickle of cold water at the nape of his neck, cooling and relaxing and almost invigorating. Like a glass of fresh water, that's what Potter's magic was like. 

He didn't know exactly what Potter was doing back there with his magic. His hands though, were gentle but firm, smoothing circles at the nape of Draco's neck, pushing at the base of his skull. 

Then his fingers slid straight into Draco's hair and the touch, the soothing, incredible hands and magic, combined for the first time in months to give Draco absolute, painless, pleasurable, peace.

He didn't want Potter to stop, not when he could feel all of the pain leaving him like poison being siphoned. 

He had to clench his hands to stop himself from shuddering with pleasure.

When Potter's voice came again, Draco was pretty sure he was on the verge of an out of body experience.

"Malfoy," he said gently from somewhere above. "Can you roll over onto your back?"

When Draco didn't move, his voice came again.

"Er, if you're comfortable..."

It took Draco another minute to realize he was being asked something. Blinking, he forced his body to move, despite how comfortable and near sleep he was.

Reality came back only briefly once he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Potter came into view above him.

"I'll just," he started, and then Draco's eyes were covered by a towel.

Potter's hands were back, this time on Draco's temples and without much prompting, Draco was back in his blissful state, more than happy to forget who was soothing him so completely as he fell asleep.

When Draco woke, it was to the sound of Potter's voice and a chill behind his ears where hands had just been. He already missed the sensation and in that split second of sleep fogged consciousness, he almost said it out loud. 

"We're all done for today," Potter was saying. "Whenever you're ready, you can get dressed and wait for me in the sitting room. I'd like to have a word with you."

And if that wasn't like getting doused in cold water, Draco didn't know what was.

He blinked, under the towel, fully awake and didn't move until he heard the door close.

Only once he was alone did Draco pull the towel from his face, assessing himself. His head felt good. Clearer than it had in ages. He hadn't felt so well rested, he was sure, since well before the accident. Since well before the war, in fact. 

To get so relaxed that he managed to fall asleep not only without a potion's aid, but also while Harry bloody Potter was in the same room, not to mention, touching him...

If it were someone else, Draco would be forced to admit that he had some skill, but seeing as this was Harry Potter, Draco chose to reserve that judgment. After all, he needed to assess the effects over time, compare them to his previous disposition, weigh other factors in the results, etc.

He sat up and was hit with a moment of disorientation. A deep breath fixed it but his stomach still squirmed. How did he know Potter hadn't melted something in his brain? Gods, why hadn't he demanded to see his qualifications?

Squirming, Draco managed to dress himself, only vaguely aware that some of his nerves may have been influenced by the fact that now he had to talk to Potter again. Face him. Have words. Find suitable responses to whatever it was Potter wanted to "have a word" with him about. He could barely think straight after all that, what made Potter think he would be up for a discussion now? It was presumptuous and rude and really, Potter should have at least warned him what he wanted to discuss.

The sitting room was blindingly bright after the dimmed lighting of the massage room. 

Draco eyed the door, wondering if he could make it through before Potter appeared again.

"Malfoy, how are you feeling?"

Silently cursing, Draco turned to face Potter as he emerged from a back room. His hair was sticking up particularly high in the back as though he'd been pulling it in frustration.

Catching Draco's gaze, he reached up self consciously, attempting to flatten it and only managing to make it worse.

He cleared his throat.

"I wanted to talk to you about your shoulder. It seemed like you had the most pain around here?" he asked, indicating on his own shoulder.

Frowning, Draco reached up, feeling the area gingerly and nodding.

Potter nodded thoughtfully.

"It's muscular, I'm sure," he said. "There are some strength building exercises I can show you before you leave."

Surprised, all Draco could do was watch as Potter walked him through a series of simple motions and explained where they would target.

"Just take it slow to begin with," Potter said. "It might be a bit painful at the start but over time it should help. I'll assess the damage more next time if you're comfortable letting me..."

Potter's cheeks turned a fascinating red as the question dangled in the air between them.

"Unless you're more comfortable going somewhere else, of course..."

Draco didn't bother informing him that no one else would take him.

"I'll see you next week," he said.

Potter's jaw dropped a little but he closed it quickly.

"Right. See you."

He didn't exactly look happy by the news but Draco didn't expect him to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone reading :)

"It was worse than all classes with Gilderoy Lockhart, combined."

Hermione gave Harry a stern look while Ron guffawed with laughter.

"It couldn't have been that bad," she insisted.

"It was," Harry said firmly. "He made me snap before we even started. Insinuated that I was trying to get him naked for my own twisted pleasure and then wouldn't let me touch anything but his head. For an hour long appointment."

Harry huffed, raking his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I know I'm good," he said. "But seriously, I don't have enough moves for an hour long head massage."

Ron's laughter had reached that dangerous stage of near silent gasping, tears wetting his cheeks and Hermione's lips finally twitched into an amused smile.

"I guess some things never change," she said. "We've all grown so much since the war, I thought Malfoy would be no exception. Then again, I thought you were better than that too, Harry."

"Me?!" Harry demanded. "What did I do? He's the one who wanted to come make my life hell again."

"You said you snapped at him," Hermione said. "I know you worked on that short fuse of yours, how could you let someone rile you up that much in just a few minutes? It couldn't have been very comfortable coming to you for help. He must be in serious pain."

Harry shrugged, feeling dutifully shamed.

"Or he just came to annoy me." 

Hermione raised a brow at him and he sighed.

"I know, I know, okay? He actually has a few serious injuries but he wouldn't let me work on them. He wasn't comfortable with me touching him. Kind of defeats the purpose of the appointment though," he grumbled.

Harry glanced at Ron, who was finally recovering, eyes red and cheeks flushed. His lips were still twitching with humour though.

"So," Ron said at last. "Did he enjoy his "head" massage?"

He burst into laughter again at the joke he'd clearly been fighting to get out and this time Hermione erupted into giggles with him.

"I hate you both so much," Harry deadpanned.

He'd asked for this, he knew; when you chose to massage people for a living, you were setting yourself up for happy ending jokes for the rest of eternity, but still...

"Guys, this is serious," he said. "He's coming again next week, he's already set an appointment. What do I do?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll "come" next week," Ron managed to choke out between the laughter. Now Hermione was hitting him as though he'd done something wrong. The fact that she was still laughing hysterically though kind of ruined the effect.

"Okay, never mind," Harry said, pushing to his feet. "I should get going."

"No, Harry wait, we're sorry," Hermione managed to say.

Harry forced a smile and shook his head.

"I have to get some stuff done anyway. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He waved at them both before taking the floo in their sitting room back to his flat.

Yes, he was quite aware that he was moping but Malfoy had that effect on him. And talking about Malfoy "coming" made him feel even more sleazy than he already did.

He couldn't believe he'd actually tried to act like he didn't know the git.

Stepping into his living room, Harry went straight for the kitchen, and straight for the fire whiskey, pouring himself a strong glass.

It had been like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, finding out about massage healing. Something quiet, where he could have his own practice. It would be drama free and best of all, he would still be able to help people, mentally, emotionally and physically in a way that was lasting and could really make a difference in their lives.

Why he decided to upset that peace by allowing in Draco Malfoy, of all people, was beyond him.

Harry took a swig of his drink and flopped into a chair at the breakfast table, mind replaying the events of their meeting for the hundredth time.

Truthfully, he'd mulled it over for ages before accepting Malfoy because, despite what Malfoy seemed to think, Harry was no idiot. 

He knew that the other man would only come to him if he had no other choice. 

Seeing Malfoy today only confirmed it. 

After three years, Malfoy had changed in subtle ways. His shoulders seemed broader. He was slightly taller. The most telling differences though we're the dark circles around his eyes, making the grey pop from the contrast. He was thin, bordering on skeletal when Harry briefly saw his exposed back. Not to mention the quiet disdain with which he had always addressed Harry was muted, though still there.

Harry's stomach twisted and he realized with some surprise that he was worried.

What he'd ascertained from Malfoy's head trauma was that the injuries were indeed serious.

With other clients at least, Harry could ask them questions and trust their answers. With Malfoy, Harry wasn't so sure.

The information he gave was telling but vague. He was hiding things and with their history, Harry wasn't sure he blamed him. 

So how was he supposed to build trust between them with all the twisted memories in the way? 

He had a week to come up with something.

Malfoy was his patient now, after all. Harry wanted to help him.

☇☇☇

Seven days later and Harry was no closer to being ready for Malfoy sitting in his waiting room, let alone laying on his massage table.

He'd done well with his medic training, even better with his internships at St. Mungo's and then Winslet Magical Massage Clinic. Even so, he felt all of his confidence leave him as Malfoy leaned back against the table with his arms crossed, watching Harry closely, just like last time, as though he was the one assessing Harry.

"So did you feel any improvement after our last session?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly.

"I managed to get a few nights sleep," he drawled. "For a few hours, anyway, if that counts as an improvement."

Harry nodded, squirming like a bug under a microscope. 

"Right, well it can take some time. We'll both need to keep working on the areas that have been aggravating you."

He waited for a response but none came.

"Er, if that's all, you can get onto the table. I'll be back in a moment."

Harry let out a rush of air as the door closed behind him.

Malfoy's tenseness was contagious. Harry's entire body felt like an elastic pulled too tight.

He went to the crowded staff room, collecting his Grapeseed oil and mixing some calming essential oils into it, despite the possibility that again Malfoy wouldn't let him use them. 

"God, I hope he let's me under the sheet this time," Harry muttered as Dierdre entered the room behind him.

She smiled indulgently.

"You know how wrong that sounds, don't you?" she asked innocently while pouring herself a fresh coffee.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not you too," he grumbled. "I need my receptionist, at least, to remain professional."

She grinned at Harry. 

"I know you didn't hire me for my professionalism," she said.

"True," Harry admitted.

When the Wizarding world's golden boy chose to open a massage parlour, it turned out the sorts of people trying to get in for a little one on one time, weren't always coming for the right reasons. Initially, Harry had thought taking clients by referral only would be enough but no, having the brunette ex-auror at the front desk had already proven to be useful on more than one occasion. 

Unfortunately, this was not one of those occasions. 

"I don't suppose you could do this massage for me?" he asked hopefully.

She just smiled and pushed him through the door.

Steeling himself, Harry creaked the massage room door open.

"Are you ready, Malfoy?" He asked. 

"Ready," Malfoy said, simply. 

Harry entered into the dark room. 

Malfoy was a slight form beneath the covers. This time, Malfoy had managed to somehow pull the covers even higher so that most of his neck was covered. Long hair, a shocking spread of white across the back of his head was the only part of him that Harry could see.

Harry tried to hold in his irritation.

If he didn't want Harry touching him, then why the hell was he here?

The question burned on Harry's lips and he bit them to hold it in, choosing instead to take a breath and attempt to ground himself. 

Like last time, while Malfoy was face down on the table, Harry could pretend that he was someone else. Yes, the sleek platinum hair was hard to mistake for anyone else's but Harry focused his gaze on Malfoy's back and let his hands fall atop his stiff shoulders.

He could feel the tension radiating off of the blond in waves. He was so still, so high strung and controlled. In other words, he was exactly how Harry assumed he would be.

Pushing his thoughts away, Harry focused instead on Draco's pain.

Most practitioners needed a wand for this part, but this was one area that Harry really appreciated his wandless magic.

He shut his eyes as he concentrated on the spell. It was a little different when he did it this way, but after a moment, he could feel it, the twisted energy of Malfoy's injury. It burned against his palm, radiating like toxic waste from his right shoulder.

The moment his hand rested there, Malfoy tensed even more, even without any pressure being applied.

He would have to work on it sometime, but for now, Harry slid his hand away, focusing again on the neck and traps until finally his client started to relax.

It was a small change, the way he sank the slightest bit into the table, breaths deepening, but Harry found it immensely gratifying. 

Again, Harry went to work on Malfoy's scalp, digging his fingers into the silky hair as he felt where he needed to work.

It felt like a storm cloud inside of Malfoy's head. Dark, twisted energy billowed around Harry's fingers.

The more Harry worked, the more he siphoned the darkness out, the more apparent it became that there was more to it than Malfoy was letting on.

This, in his mind, was something long term. Something that ran deeper than a few months. How else would it be so strong? It was like electric shocks to Harry's fingers when he reached too deeply and Harry knew, whatever relief he could offer would only be temporary. When the darkness was so deeply rooted, it was hard to pull the whole plant free. Everytime you clipped something loose, it was only that much easier for new leaves to grow.

The only question, of course, was what it was. 

Hatred. Guilt. Pride. Regret. Depression. Anger. Resentment. All the angry words one could think of, could cause something like this over time. Bouyoed by insomnia, and a concussion most likely.

Another spark hit Harry's fingers tip and he wondered whether any of the darkness was over him.

It wasn't a pleasant thought so Harry pushed it away.

All he could really heal, was the physical injury, anyway. The brain trauma, swelling, insomnia and concussion. The rest was for Malfoy to figure out. Unless of course, he decided to actually trust Harry one day.

Harry let out a breath, realizing that he'd lost himself for a second there, and forcing himself back to the present.

He slid his hands down Malfoy's scalp, all the was down his neck.

Malfoy shivered under him and Harry tried his luck, sliding his hands under the covers.

Malfoy didn't respond, so Harry pushed it even further.

"Malfoy," he said gently. "Would it be alright if I do your back today?"

Malfoy stilled and for a tense moment, Harry thought he was going to be turned down but then Malfoy nodded.

With a sigh of relief, Harry folded the sheets down, slowly exposing the expanse of pale skin.

He tried not to stare, forcing himself to concentrate on pumping oil out of the bottle as he took it all in.

Last time, he barely had a chance to really look. He'd only glimpsed the pale, bony frame.

This time it was unavoidable.

Harry placed his hands on his former nemesis, eyes raking him as he started to move.

Malfoy's skin was a flawless expanse of soft white but the marble like beauty of it was ruined by the rest.

His ribs and spine were all on clear display. His arms looked small enough to snap and there on the forearm to marr the skin, the ugly, splotchy mess of what was once the dark mark.

In the dim lights, Harry couldn't make it out very well, nor did he want to. 

He turned his gaze back to his hands, slicking Malfoy's skin with oil while he pressed deep into areas of tension, working them out methodically, one by one. He had to use his elbows on the tougher knots but Malfoy only breathed deeply when he did, never complaining. 

Curious, Harry used his magic once again while he massaged Malfoy's back.

From what he could feel, his stomach was empty, but fine.

Concern gripped Harry.

The state of Malfoy's mind, combined with his frame... it didn't look good. As his healer, Harry knew he had to speak to him about it.

His stomach squirmed at the very idea.

Pushing it from his thoughts, Harry slid his hands lower, hesitating briefly. Would Malfoy hex him if he tried to massage his glutes? He really wanted to check his hip but it was going so well today already, far better than Harry had thought it would. He didn't want to shatter the fragile trust so soon.

Choosing not to risk it, Harry by passed the area, moving to Malfoy's legs without asking.

Malfoy's right leg was tight from disuse but aside from that, seemed to be fine.

He carefully draped the sheets to expose one, then the other, loosening both calves and thighs before speaking again.

"Okay, time to roll over," Harry said, covering Malfoy up again.

He didn't respond.

Thinking he was asleep, like last time, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in a little closer.

"Malfoy," he said gently.

Malfoy’s voice was shockingly alert when he finally spoke. 

"I think not," he said tersely. 

Harry didn't know what to say. 

After a long moment, he turned back to Malfoy's body feeling lost and then settled on spending the rest of their time on Malfoy’s head.

Better to play it safe. 

Where Draco Malfoy was concerned, Harry was proving to be just as flabbergasted as he'd always been.


	3. three

Draco slowly unclenched his hands.

Finally alone, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

He was positive Potter had been able to feel his heart pounding, after all, it was beating so hard Draco could hear the blood rushing through his ears.

With another slow breath, he pushed up on the bed, cringing when he glanced down at the obvious erection still tenting his pants.

Draco had been so out of it, relaxed and sleepy, hypnotized by the warm, firm hands on his back, that he had almost rolled over.

His stomach clenched with nerves and his face grew hot at the very thought.

What if Potter knew exactly why he hadn't wanted to roll over?

Oh no. Draco was going to be sick. He looked around the room, gaze darting to the trash can.

No. He could control himself.

Draco glanced down at his cock, still rock hard and took that thought back.

He had to get the hell out of here.

He made it into his clothes, robe draped carefully around him, and out the door into the bright waiting room.

The receptionist, eyed Draco sharply as he approached.

"Mr. Potter will be out in a moment for a consultation," she said.

"Sure," Draco said easily.

He placed some money on the table and bolted through the door, apparating the moment his feet hit the sidewalk.

Home. Looming over him, the manor was far from a welcome sight, but Draco just dropped his gaze to the ground and went inside.

"Draco."

Draco paused in his stride, nearly at the stairs and took a breath before turning to face his mother.

She was standing by the sitting room door, penetrating gaze fixed on him.

"How was your appointment?" she asked.

Draco bristled.

"Excellent," she said. "Potter is a healing genius. I'll be back to normal in no time. In fact, I may not even have to go in again."

"There's no need for that, Draco," she said, cooly.

"Well that's what you really want to know isn't it?" Draco snapped. "How long until I'm without this ridiculous limp?"

Finally, Narcissa's demeanor cracked the smallest bit and her lips pursed at the corners.

"Draco," she said slowly. "I have no hidden agenda. You're my son. I want you to be well."

Guilt filled Draco, as it always did in these moments and he sagged under the weight of it.

"Surely you understand," she went on. "Especially now, after everything...."

"I do," Draco reassured. "Of course mother."

He swallowed.

"The appointment was good," he said firmly. "I can feel a bit of a difference already."

Relief passed over her face and Draco turned before more could be said, climbing the stairs to his room and if possible, feeling even worse than he had leaving the appointment.

For one, he didn't think he'd ever felt so humiliated.

Harry Potter gave him an erection...

Draco groaned and dropped onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow.

He would never live this down. Even if Potter, being the moron that he was, didn't know it had happened, Draco knew. And he would never let himself forget it.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, remembering the fear that had lanced him at the sudden realization.

Potter was probably rolling on the floor laughing right now.

Draco shuddered and pulled his pillow over his head, wishing he'd never gone to those damn appointments. It was one thing to be healed by his former nemesis but to be hypnotized by the feel of him, to be stirred by the touch of his strong hands on his body... 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

For a few days Draco managed to keep up the act. He came down for breakfast and dinner when his mother was around, he went for a stroll in the gardens and he even ventured out to meet up with Goyle for a drink and some dull conversation which turned out to be a bad idea. Not that any meaningful, heartfelt words passed between them. Actually, they covered only the basics, their parents, the weather, the Harpies' last match and of course Goyle's new girlfriend. Still though, ever since the war, seeing Goyle just felt wrong. Like Draco was waiting for something--or someone--to emerge from just around the corner, no doubt off fetching them some deserts or drinks.

After that, forcing the pleasant conversations was that small bit harder and Draco succumbed to his bed, spending countless hours in it and skipping more meals than was probably healthy.

His mother checked on him, she sent house elves with his dinner and Draco spent days on end wondering how many hours a person could spend sleeping each day? He thought of meaningless things mostly when he was awake and his mind wandered to Potter only a handful of times, to his warm hands and firm voice that resonated in Draco's chest when he was relaxed and the room was quiet. Had he ever felt so relaxed with anyone before?

When he left the window open and woke up groggy and cold one night, he even half wished for the other man in a distance, abstract way. He wanted the presence of him, the company of someone there, someone's steady, rhythmic breathing, and steady heart beat and perhaps, if he was okay with someone touching him, Potter's hands felt very nice. He wanted those things, not the man himself, of course. The thought of Harry Potter in that way made Draco shudder, but the individual pieces of him, in the dark, when he was all alone, they were enticing.

After that, Draco kept the window firmly shut and decided sleep actually was preferable to thinking.

Later, he would get up and figure out what to do with himself.

A sharp knock woke Draco with a start.

He blinked at his mother blearily.

"Draco," she said firmly.

"Mother," he replied.

She stared at him a moment and then sighed.

"Someone's here to see you," she said.

Surprised, Draco pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Who is it?" he asked.

There was a time when his friends use to visit but Draco had made so many excuses that now the visits were rare.

"Harry Potter," Narcissa said.

Draco was out of bed so fast that for a moment, he saw stars. He reached out, grasping the bed post.

"I hope this is some kind of sick joke meant to snap some sense into me," he said desperately. "Well it's worked. Good job Mother, I'll go look for a job today. I'll get my life together, starting now."

Narcissa's lips pursed into a thin line as she watched Draco.

"Really Draco," she sighed. "Enough with the dramatics. Mr. Potter is your physical therapist now, is it really that surprising that he would come here after you missed a session?"

Draco stared at her as the walls closed in around him.

"Mother," he said slowly. "Outside of his clinic, I haven't seen Potter since--"

He swallowed and tried again.

"This is my home."

She didn't even twitch.

"He's seen me naked!"

"Draco!" she hissed. "I don't need to know the details, I just need you to heal!"

She turned around and swept through the door and then paused and turned, looking him up and down.

"Clean yourself up," she said pointedly. "He's waiting in the sitting room."

She shut the door behind her with a click and Draco fell back onto his bed.

For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling, stunned.

Every half baked thought he'd entertained about Potter that night flew to the front of his mind; his hands around Draco's arms, breath brushing his hair, heart beat under Draco's palms...

"Fuck," Draco muttered.

He was up again, just as fast, scourgifying himself with his wand while he rummaged through his wardrobe with his other hand, searching for something suitable.

Half way into a set of blue dress robes, Draco cursed and flung them aside.

"Why the hell would I wear dress robes to meet someone in my own home?" he demanded out loud.

No, something casual. Something he would lounge in but still be willing to meet company in.

Black pants and a white shirt, more casual than Draco would like, but Potter was down there waiting for him for god knew what and if Draco made him wait any longer, he was fairly certain that his mother would skin him.

Heart pounding, Draco emerged from his room. 

The chilly air in the hallway was a sudden reminder that this was the first time he'd left his room in days.

Pushing the thought away, Draco held the banister for support and walked down the stairs.

Just outside the sitting room, Draco caught sight of himself in a mirror and wanted to cower back the way he came, all the way back into his room and back under the covers. He'd forgotten to do his hair. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale.

"Malfoy."

Draco started and looked up, catching Potter's sharp gaze on him, peering at him in shades of green that Draco could still see fifteen feet away and through glasses.

Swallowing, Draco lifted himself as high as he could and entered the room.

Potter was sitting at the small table, two cups of tea and cookies set before him.

Draco took a seat as though this was normal. As though the last time Potter had been in this house it hadn't been for anything other than tea.

Draco reached out, distracting himself and took the second cup.

It was still hot, warming his hands pleasantly as he took a sip.

"Potter," he said, finally meeting the green gaze. "What brings you here today?"

Potter didn't answer, just watched Draco grimly, eyes searching his until Draco had to look away.

"You have a limp," he said finally and Draco had to massage the bridge of his nose to stop the instantly impending headache.

"Yes, Potter," he said tiredly. "Where have you been all this time?"

"I guess I didn't see you walking," he said thoughtfully. "I led you into the room both times... and hey! You didn't think to mention that during the intake?"

"I told you--"

"No," Potter interrupted. "You said it hurt, you didn't say you couldn't walk right."

"I can walk just fine," Draco spat.

Potter tilted his head at Draco thoughtfully.

"Why?" he asked, looking at Draco like he was one of the creatures that Hagrid used to bring to class, genuinely mystified. 

"Excuse me?"

"Why wouldn't you let me heal it?"

Draco stared at Potter.

He swallowed and tried to find suitable words but none came.

This conversation was going even worse than he'd thought it would.

"Why didn't you come this week?"

When he still didn't speak, Potter placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forward over it, trying to catch Draco's gaze again.

Draco glanced up and then away, losing even more of his forced calm.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," he spat. "You must be a terrible legilimens. You're trying to tell me something with your mind right now, aren't you?"

Potter watched him for a moment longer and then sighed and took his tea. He sipped it carefully before speaking again.

"Are you planning on coming back?" he asked gently.

Surprised, Draco was yet again rendered silent. He hadn't thought he would have to explain himself. Potter's lips pressed together and eyes squinted the slightest bit at the corners in a frown.

"Is there a reason?" he asked tightly.

Draco shrugged and looked into his tea which was rapidly cooling, taking all of its warmth with it.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked.

"Because," Potter said stubbornly. "Until you say otherwise, I am your doctor and I was worried about you."

That drew Draco up short.

He looked at Potter with wide eyes but the stubborn frown was still plastered firmly on the other wizard's face.

"Is it because of our history, Malfoy?" he asked earnestly. "Really, I want to know. I want to fix this so that we can get through the rest of the treatments you need."

"Why?" Draco demanded harshly. "Why would you care what I am, or am not, going through?"

Potter stared at him, eyes wide and Draco stared back for a full minute before Potter finally managed to say anything.

"Malfoy," he started. "I know we've never gotten along but, well its been a few years now and..."

He swallowed, watching Draco oddly. 

"You know I meant everything I said at the trial, right? I wouldn't have said it otherwise. I don't believe that you--"

"Enough," Draco snapped. "I don't want to talk about the trial. I don't want to 'fix this'. I don't care about the limp or any of the rest of it."

Draco suddenly wanted to take back the legilimens joke he'd made earlier because the way Potter was looking at him... Draco was pretty sure he was seeing straight through him.

"I set an appointment for you," Potter said firmly. "Same time as always."

Flabbergasted, Draco gaped at Potter.

"Listen Potter--"

"Look, Malfoy," he shook his head and looked at Draco meaningfully. "Draco. You don't deserve to be in chronic pain. You deserve to be happy."

Draco didn't know where to start or how to react.

His immediate response was anger at being interrupted and told what to do. Annoyance at the fact that Potter was purposely ignoring his request to stay on a last name basis. Frustration that Potter thought he knew anything about what Draco was going through. But then the warmth hit him like a flood of hot water, washing through his veins faster than his sip of hot tea.

You deserve to be happy. 

Was Draco really so melodramatic that he didn't think himself worthy of a little happiness? He knew the answer just as swiftly as he knew that Potter's words were exactly what he needed to hear.

Merlin, he was pathetic.

"Next appointment," Potter went on as though he hadn't just started a crisis inside Draco's head. "I would really like to examine you properly. Would that be okay? Will you let me do it?"

Draco nodded numbly and Potter lit up, nearly hovering above his seat.

Then he leaned forward, like he was going to share a secret and Draco remembered who he was dealing with.

"There's one more thing," Potter said bashfully. "My main reason for coming. I wasn't lying when I said I was concerned."

"What is it?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"Your weight," Potter said uneasily and Draco felt himself drawing back into his seat before anymore was even said. "It's a little too low. Are you having trouble keeping food down? Feeling nausea, anything like that that I should know about?"

Draco shook his head.

"Have you been... exercising a lot or..."

Draco shook his head again.

Potter nodded but he didn't look happy.

After a moment he cleared his throat.

"Okay," he said. "Well it's important to the healing process to be at a healthy weight. So we'll work on that together."

Draco managed a bitter laugh.

"How, by spoon feeding me?"

Potter didn't seem to find it funny.

"Draco--"

"Well this was pleasant," Draco said, pushing to his feet. "Let's not do it again."

He turned to leave.

"You can find your own way out, I assume?"

"Draco, wait--"

Draco shuddered at the sound of his name on those lips and found himself completely unable to turn and face them.

"I'll see you on Wednesday," he said without pausing.

He made it all the way to the top of the stair case, bum-leg nearly making him topple down to the bottom because he was shaking so hard.

Draco leaned on the banister, breathing heavily, heart and mind racing as one.

He didn't know why Potter saying his name so casually felt so intrinsically wrong. Maybe Draco had unknowingly built himself a persona based around the fact that Harry Potter didn't like him. And visa-versa.

On the other hand, Draco didn't know if it was a comfort or a curse to know that he really did know Harry Potter as well as he'd always thought he did.

He looked down at himself; the scrawny figure hidden under a sparse layer of clothing that was now too big on him.

To think that all the while, he was laying there enjoying the feeling or being touched, Potter had in fact been judging his body.

He was too skinny. He'd said it and Draco knew it. Everyone probably knew it, even when he wore robes to hide it.

Draco tugged at the loose fabric hanging around his abdomen and then retreated back into his room, sealing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry pushed his tea away and sank back in his chair, feeling defeated.

It had been going so well, too. Better than Harry had anticipated it would. He'd shown up here, jaw set, ready to tell Draco to get his act together, start eating and go to a different medic if Harry wasn't good enough.

He would have done it for any of his clients. In fact, he'd been planning on saying it the day of their last appointment but Draco had taken off.

For a week and a half Harry had planned that conversation. He had nearly been talked out of it twice by Ron but now he was glad he'd come, if only to see that Draco was in fact as human as anyone else was.

Harry finally allowed himself to smile at the birds nest that Draco had had on the side of his head. It was somehow gratifying to know that the blond could have messy hair, just like anyone else could.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Potter."

Harry's smile vanished instantly and he sat bolt upright, realizing that Narcissa was watching him from the entrance.

"I was hesitant, at first, to send Draco to you," she said, entering the room and approaching him. "Considering how worked up you've always made him."

"I haven't--er..."

Narcissa arched a brow, much the same way Harry had seen Draco do a million times before and Harry decided not to speak.

"I must admit," she said, taking Draco's previous seat. "You definitely know how to handle my son."

Harry blinked at her, at a loss.

"You think that went well?" he asked, incredulously.

"He agreed to another appointment, didn't he?"

Her hands slid out across the table and she took Harry's arm, appealing to him with eyes that he could suddenly see were wrought with worry.

"My son hasn't been well for quite some time time now," she said and Harry had the sinking feeling that she wasn't talking about any physical injuries. "I thought that with time..."

She straightened, pulling herself back into her rigid posture across from him.

She blinked once, twice, and her mask was back in place.

"I'm relying on you, Mr. Potter," she said. "If you require any assistance, don't hesitate to ask."

She stood to leave.

"Actually," Harry said, making her pause. "There is one thing."

She looked at him guardedly.

"Oh?"

Harry swallowed under her scrutiny but nodded, curiosity pushing him.

"How exactly did Draco receive such a strong blow?" he asked.

All Harry could guess was that it was a car, but the way that Draco had said it... blunt force trauma... as though he didn't want to explain. Harry thought maybe he'd been attacked. And if that was the case, he wanted to know. Whether he'd turned his back on being an auror or not, he didn't like to think that someone like that might still be walking the streets.

Narcissa watched him closely.

For a long moment, Harry didn't think she was going to divulge but then she pursed her lips and Harry knew that something unpleasant was coming.

"He fell," she said, lightly. "From the fourth floor balcony."

Shock hit Harry at her words and Narcissa sensed it because she looked away, suddenly avoiding Harry's gaze.

"I saw him..." She swallowed. "I moved as fast as I could but only dulled the impact."

Her voice faded as though the strength left it and Harry's shock turned into something fiercely defensive.

"You saved his life," he said.

Narcissa's gaze shot fleetingly out the window and Harry suspected that she was seeking out the spot of the fall before her eyes found his again.

"I should have been faster."

Without realizing it, Harry was on his feet.

He grasped her arm, warmly.

"I'm sure you did everything you could," he said.

To his surprise, Narcissa smiled.

Her hand landed on Harry's, feather soft and all of the heat left him, embarrassment flushing him instead.

"Please," she said. "Don't give up on him."

With one last meaningful look, Narcissa parted and Harry was left staring after her.

True, Draco had taken after his mother in many ways. She was cool and elusive, just like Draco's exterior, but Draco had a fire inside him. A feisty quality, ready for an argument at any moment, forever unable to truly keep his cool. No matter how hard he acted aloof, Harry could always see the spark in his eyes.

And not long ago, Draco had tried to out that spark. Narcissa had said it in not so many words.

Harry was genuinely surprised how sad that made him.

It was like a weight was crushing down on his chest as he left the manor.

Outside, he turned and looked back up at the rising towers, wondering where Draco was right now. Hiding in his bedroom alone, his mind supplied, and in pain.

Harry apparated home, his mind a million miles away.

Inside, he sat down at the table, eyes seeing nothing in front of him, piecing together blanks from the last three years--and before that.

Draco, standing atop the astronomy tower. 

Harry had been more concerned about other things at the time, Dumbledore in particular, but now he remembered Draco's face, painted in anguish and fear. A tendril of hope when help was mentioned...

He remembered the disappointment in Draco's eyes on his last "visit" to the manor, when he'd looked at Harry so closely and then denied it was him.

For the first time, he paid close attention to the dark circles under Draco's eyes, the gauntness in his cheeks, the fear in his every movement. 

Harry had been there for a heart beat and it was one of his worst memories. Draco had been there for months, living that fear constantly. 

And now he was still there. Still in that house.

And he was shunned, along with his mother. So much so, that he was too afraid to even go to the hospital for fear of being ridiculed and humiliated.

He was willing to come to Harry for Merlin's sake, just to ensure a little privacy.

For a few days, Harry walked around like he'd had his eyes opened. He wondered everyone's story when he passed them on the streets.

He'd been so fixated on moving on, following his heart, living a full life, it was like he'd skipped all of the hard stuff. Like he was brushing off the way that the war was still affecting people.

He could barely sleep at night and when he did fall fitfully into restless slumber, he woke up with Draco Malfoy's anguished voice gasping in his ear, so real he could feel the humidity of his breath tickling his hairs.

It took Harry far too long to realize that it wasn't a dream. 

When the details of the fiendfyre came back to him so starkly, for some reason, it shook Harry more than ever before.

He'd always been so hung up on the great hall, on the funerals and the aftermath, on Voldmort and the train station... he hadn't given the fiendfyre much of his time. Just fleeting thoughts that he pushed away.

Why then, was the memory too overwhelming now? Why could he practically feel Draco's fingers digging into him, feel the tense line of his body against his back, hear his ragged breath?

Harry sent an owl to Deirdre to cancel all of his appointments until Wednesday, but it still wasn't enough time.

Deirdre took one look at him on Wednesday morning and put on an extra strong pot of coffee.

Once they were both holding a cup, she finally broke the silence.

"Long night?" she asked casually.

Harry looked at her, frowning.

"Dee," he said. "I've always wondered but I never thought to ask. Why did you quit the Aurors?"

She glanced at him, surprised and then looked down into her coffee.

"I thought I'd seen enough," she said, after a moment. "I wanted to find something else to do, something peaceful."

Harry's brows drew down into a frown and he nodded. He related to that on a gut churning level.

"Yeah," he said, lowly.

He swallowed.

"I'm sorry I never asked."

Deirdre raised a brow at him and burst into laughter.

"Merlin, what's gotten you so maudlin?"

Harry shrugged, not bothered enough to feel embarrassed.

"I've just realized how much people are still affected by the war," he said. "It's like I tied a blindfold on."

"Of course you did!" Deirdre said. "Everyone did! You can't just keep reliving everything all the time, that would drive anyone to suicide."

Harry cringed.

Deirdre didn't miss it.

Her dark brows lifted a little in curiosity but she didn't say anything for a minute.

"It's only been three years," she said after a moment. "The more time passes, the more people will be able to face their demons from a safe distance. That's how it always works."

Before Harry could respond, the bell jingled, indicating the door opening and the arrival of Harry's only appointment for the day.

He froze, coffee cup clutched to his chest. 

He wasn't ready!

Deirdre's eyes widened in understanding and she went out to greet Draco while Harry tried to collect himself.

After a moment, she came back in.

"He's waiting in the sitting room," she said, watching him closely.

Harry nodded numbly. He didn't move.

"You can't hide in here forever," she said.

Sighing, Harry nodded again and set down his cup. 

He could do this, he just had to act normally.

Steeling himself, Harry opened the door and walked out into the sitting room.

Draco was there, looking the same as he always did. Immaculate. No tangles this time, his every hair was in place, back rigid, body tense as a bow ready to shoot. His pale eyes followed Harry's every movement with sharp precision and there was that defiant spark that Harry was so used to seeing. Normally, it filled him with instant irritation, but today for some reason, it just made his stomach squirm.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Draco nodded and pushed to his feet.

Harry watched him limp proudly into the massage room, bile rising in his throat with every labored step Draco took. 

How had he boon so inattentive? How had he missed so much where his former classmate was involved?

He shut the door behind them, trying to collect himself before turning to find Draco watching him guardedly.

"So, what's on the menu for today?" Draco asked, leaning back against the table.

"I want to thoroughly examine your body," Harry said. 

Draco's brows rose high and for a horrifying moment, his lips twitched and Harry realized what he'd said.

"Like we discussed last time," he hurried on as Draco opened his mouth. "You can get on the table."

Harry practically ran to the staff room, heart racing like he was being chased.

Once alone, he took a long breath, waited the prerequisite few minutes and once he couldn't wait any longer without drawing attention, he finally went back to the room.


	5. Chapter 5

_What the hell was that?_

Draco stood prone for a moment, wondering what had gotten into the other man. Just a few days ago he had shown up at Malfoy Manor ready for a fight, after all, ready to force Draco onto the massage bed while spoon feeding him. And a moment ago, he'd practically run from the room with his tail between his legs.

All because Draco had been on the verge of making the obvious joke that had been handed to him.  _I know I'm irresistible Potter..._

Draco snorted. 

"Yeah right," he muttered as he undressed. 

After the comments about his thin frame, Draco couldn't even pretend to himself that Potter found him attractive in any way.

_Thoroughly examine your body,_ really,  _that_ moron was the one who saved the wizarding world?

Grumbling, Draco climbed under the sheets, pulling them up as high as they would go, wondering exactly what this thorough examination would entail.

After what felt like forever, Potter's telltale knock sounded on the door.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco said.

A moment later, he heard the door close and then footsteps nearing.

Draco's nerves grew with every step.

By the time Potter's hands touched him, Draco jumped.

Potter froze.

"I'm just going to start the same way as usual," he said after a moment.

Draco swallowed and tried to relax, but hell, even the usual way was not ideal if Draco's reaction last time was a possibility again.

Potter began to move his hands again, over the blanket to start, just like the last two times. Eventually, Draco found his shoulders giving, unable to fight the firm touch.

He'd nearly forgotten just how  _good_ this was. 

In no time, Draco sank into the bed, feeling like putty in Potter's hands. It really was a shame that the other man  _wasn't_ attracted to him, he reasoned, he could do with having these hands at his beck and call.

Draco smiled into the head rest. The thought was both amusing and gratifying. If Potter wanted him that way... well it would be like winning in some twisted way, wouldn't it? He pushed the thought away. These massages were really messing with his head.

Potter folded the sheet down to access Draco's shoulders, oily hands slipping against his skin. Then, like a trickle of cool water, Draco could feel Potter's magic too,  pouring through Draco's skin like it was a siphon.

He didn't know what Potter was doing, but he didn't care because it felt good, even when Potter placed a cool hand over his injured shoulder.  Normally, it was in constant pain, a deep ache and pinching feeling that he could never quite ignore. He still felt it with Potter's hands there, but the Magic felt almost like it was numbing it.

"Are you awake?" Potter suddenly asked gently.

After a moment, Draco remembered to nod.

"I'm going to need to move a few things around in there," Potter said. "This is going to hurt. Just try to breathe through it."

For a long moment, Potter's words rolled about Draco's mind and then he lifted his head and looked at Potter, frowning.

The raven haired man was watching Draco closely, concern visible on his face, even in the dim lighting.

"Move a few things around in  _where_ exactly?" Draco asked slowly.

"Your shoulder," Potter said with a grimace.

Draco considered. He  _really_ didn't like the sound of that, but if that meant not needing to come back here and subject himself to this ordeal next time, then it would definitely be worth it. 

"If you think it will help," Draco said and put his face back down.

Potter placed his hands on Draco's shoulder.

For a moment it felt the same, and then, as Potter began to twist his hands, back and forth, back and forth, the pressure getting firmer, the cool trickle of magic getting hotter, Draco realized why Potter had warned him to breathe deep.

Draco's fingers dug into the sheets, breaths turning into shallow gasps as the pain intensified. Sharp, throbbing, burning, far worse than his usual pain and intensifying by the moment.

Suddenly, Potter's magic wasn't so calming anymore. It was like a fire, burning Draco and  _moving_ things around inside him, shifting his body from the inside in ways he wasn't sure he trusted.

Draco cried out, clutching the bed in pain.

Almost at once, Potter's hands stopped moving and the heat was replaced with cool energy again, numbing the area.

Still breathless, Draco lifted his head to look at Potter incredulously.

"That was supposed to help?"he demanded harshly.

"Yes," Potter said. "And it will probably ease some of the pain for now, but its not finished."  

Draco made an incredulous noise and nearly sat up, despite his near nudity under the sheets, ready to take off. There was no way he was doing that again.

Potter held him gently in place.

"Not today," he rushed on. "Don't worry."

Draco eyed him for a moment, still unconvinced before sliding grudgingly back down.

Potter might tell him not to worry, but Draco couldn't calm the twisting unease within him. 

The level of pain he was in everyday... Yes, it was a nuisance. It was uncomfortable. He took pain potions every day and sleeping draughts every night just to be semi normal. But it didn't hurt like  _that_. That was downright torturous. Was it worth inflicting himself to that repeatedly?

This time, when Potter asked Draco to roll over, he did so without thinking. It didn't matter today, thank Merlin, because Draco was so lost in thought that he was pretty sure he had separated from his body. He felt numb to Potter's touch and hadn't even noticed the other wizard massaging his naked back.

But then Potter climbed onto the end of the bed and Draco was brought right back to the moment.

"What are you doing?"

His voice came out embarrassingly close to a squeal and Draco cleared his throat, which was difficult with his heart pounding in it.

Potter paused on all fours over Draco.

"I'm just getting a better angle," he said uneasily. "You can close your eyes, you know... you don't have to stare... most people just sleep through these parts...."

Draco finally managed to snap his gaping jaw shut. He dropped his head back against the pillow but couldn't close his eyes, rigidly staring up at the ceiling instead, the entirety of his focus on the raven haired man currently climbing on top of him.

Draco swallowed.

"You know I was up here a minute ago doing the backs of your legs and you didn't seem to care then," Potter grumbled.

Draco frowned. He hadn't noticed. Despite himself, he looked down at Potter again and his mouth went dry.

Potter's knees were braced on the edge of the bed, to one side of Draco's feet, his back was straight, one hand braced on the bed on Draco's opposite hip as he dropped the other hand onto Draco's lower thigh, using the weight of his body to press into it.

He exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into Draco, his magic a healing rush against sore muscles.

As Draco watched, Potter slowly worked his way higher.

Draco swallowed and tore his gaze away, gluing it instead to the ceiling and concentrating as hard as he could on that time he'd walked in on his parents.

_Dammit_. He'd been  _sure_ that the last time had been because of the feeling of Potter's hands and nothing else, but right now, the view of him... Silky raven hair falling into his bright eyes that were frowned in concentration, the bulge of his forearm on the mattress next to him, his strong hand straining against Draco's thigh over the sheet.

Shit.

"Don't worry," Potter said softly and for a cringe-worthy moment, Draco was sure Potter was going to say something about erections being natural or some other such shit and he would have yet another thing on Draco that would make him want to hide his head in shame. "I'm just examining it today. You went through enough for one day with the shoulder."

Huh?

Draco risked another look at Potter.

With a rush of relief, he realized that the other man had his head down, eyes squeezed shut in concentration while his hand now rested on Draco's hip flexor, firmly, but not painfully.

The worry over what was happening in there warred with Draco's forming erection and the thing remained a little swollen but prone against his inner thigh.

Draco swallowed and tried with all his might to forget about it.

"Anything good in there?" he asked, going for casual, but his voice sounded tense even to his own ears.

Potter let out a low breath, a puff of cool air that brushed Draco's arms and neck.

"It's not good," he said seriously.

"How not good?" Draco asked uneasily.

Grimacing, Potter climbed off of him. He went to the small sink and took a towel, wiping his hands of oil before turning to face Draco.

"I think we should sit and discuss this properly," he said. "I'll let you get dressed. Don't run off on me this time."

Really, the amount of innuendo that man could pack into innocent gestures and phrases... It was a wonder he didn't get into more trouble than he already did. 

Then again, maybe Draco was only hearing and seeing what he wanted to hear. It  _had_ been a long time since anyone had touched him. 

Draco got dressed. His leg felt as sore as always while he pulled it into his trousers, but his shoulder felt worse. It started to throb with pain as he struggled to get dressed. By the time he left the room, his fingers were swollen,his entire arm aching.

As always, the sitting room was empty save for the receptionist at the front desk.

She eyed Draco sharply.

"Don't think I'll let you apparate away twice," she said frankly and with an air of authority that made Draco wonder what made her so sure she could catch him.

He didn't test it though. He wanted to know what was wrong with him at least, even if there was no chance in hell of healing him.

He sat down in a seat and waited, foot tapping.

When Potter finally emerged from the back, he took one look at Draco, sitting there cradling his arm gingerly and instead of sitting next to Draco, he crouched down in front of him, offering both hands.

Draco's cheeks heated at once and he glanced over at the receptionist who was pointedly looking away before carefully placing his hand in Potter's. His skin was hot when Draco touched it.

"Is it very sore?" Potter asked gently.

Draco nodded and a wash of ice cold traveled up his arm from Potter's hands. It was different than his magic though, just a normal cooling spell that Draco recognized.

"So do you do all your magic without a wand?" Draco asked. "Or just when you're trying to impress me?"

Draco didn't know why he said it. The flirtatious note was obvious but Potter didn't seem to notice. He just smiled at Draco and shrugged a little awkwardly.

"Just the easy spells," he said self-consciously.

Why was he so self-conscious, Draco wondered, when his ease with wandless spells was nothing if not powerful and sexy.

"The swelling is normal," Potter said after a moment. "You have a pinched nerve. I almost got it out, but it would have been too painful for you to keep going. We can do it bit by bit until its in the right place."

Draco grimaced.

"And that will get rid of the pain entirely?" he asked, still weighing his options. 

Potter nodded.

"It should," he said, letting Draco's hand go. "For now just try to keep it cold."

He took the seat next to him and Draco realized it was quite possibly the first time they'd ever sat together. They'd known each other for so long but in this strange, almost amicable way, Draco found he didn't know how to act, where to put his hands, where to look. 

Hands and gaze both ended up on his lap until Potter spoke next.

"Your leg," he said, "is not good though."

Draco couldn't suppress an eyes roll.

"So you've said."

Potter's lips pursed in annoyance and Draco regretted his automatic response.

"What's wrong with it?" he prompted.

"Your injury," Potter said. He stopped and then tried again. " _Who_ exactly did you have heal it?"

The look in Potter's eyes made Draco think, maybe he shouldn't rat out Mr. McGuilvery, because Potter was possibly considering very bad things for the man. And yes, he was a slimy little fellow, but family friends were few and far between nowadays.

"You said you had a  _healer_ come to the house," Potter said.

"And I gather the healing job done to my hip was sub-par?" Draco asked, guessing where the story would go from here.

"To say the least," Potter said hotly. "The hip bone was healed as it was, I'm guessing. There are splinters and edges digging into the flesh and muscle everywhere. Then the femur was set,  _clearly_ into the wrong position. It's a disaster in there. In fact, it's a wonder you can even walk."

Draco licked his lips which were suddenly dry.

"Yes well, that's mostly out of stubbornness," he admitted.

"Draco," Potter said, leaning forward earnestly. "You have to tell me who did this to you. They can't have a licence."

His sincerity was touching really and made Draco feel like he'd kicked an injured puppy by doing this to himself. And then he realized that in that scenario  _he_ was the puppy and also the abuser and that was just too confusing.

"He doesn't have a licence," he admitted quietly.

The look Potter gave him made Draco wish he had indeed made a run for it despite the warning he'd received. One would have to be an auror to track someone apparating. That receptionist didn't have a chance of catching him. 

What Draco didn't understand was why Potter looked so hurt. Draco hadn't done anything to him after all.  _He_ was the one suffering.

"So you got someone off the street to heal you--"

"He's not off the street, he owns a place, after all--"

"--and trusted this random stranger with your life as though it was nothing?"

Draco stared at Potter incredulously.

"I don't know where you got this random, homeless, stranger image from," Draco said. "But aside from that, yes, I suppose so."

Potter looked away. He took a breath as though to calm himself. As though Draco had truly offended him.

"What difference does it make?" Draco asked.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because Potter's gaze shot to his again, wide eyed.

"I'm having a thing," Potter said, suddenly.

The shift in conversation was so swift that Draco didn't follow it.

"What?" he asked. "An aneurysm?"

Potter frowned.

"What? No. A--a  _thing_ \--if you want."

"Want what?" Draco asked uneasily. Had he missed something?

"To come," Potter said, sounding annoyed.

He was slowly turning Gryffindor red though and Draco finally had an inkling as to what was happening.

"Potter," Draco said, slowly. "Are you  _inviting_ me to something?"

"Yes," Potter said, nodding. "Do you want to come?"

If not for the fact that the other man looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, Draco would have been a lot less kind about this situation. Potter had never quite gotten a hang of some of the basics, like talking. Feeling generous though, Draco just raised a brow.

"To what?" he asked patiently.

Potter swallowed. His mouth opened and closed.

"Dinner."

Both men jumped at the sudden input from the receptionist and looked at her. 

She smiled innocently, but it was hard to ignore the amused glint in her eyes.

"Weren't you telling me something about dinner earlier?" she prompted, Potter.

"Oh, er, yes. That's right."

He cleared his throat.

"I'm having people over for dinner. Tomorrow."

He was talking in full sentences now but it still wasn't making any sense.

"And you want  _me_ to join?"

"Why not?" Harry said and there, as always, was the passion that Potter always displayed. That righteous streak that came out whenever he thought his views were being questioned. 

"It's been years," Potter reminded him, earnestly. "There's no reason you and me and my friends can't all get along and reconnect, is there?"

"I suppose not," Draco agreed, aside from the fact that it would be hell, of course.

Potter broke into a grin.

"Great," he said and stood up. "Tomorrow at my place."

He turned to leave and Draco nearly panicked.

"Wait!"

Potter looked at him.

"Where  _is_  your place?"

Potter laughed. 

"Right," he said. "Dee, can you give him all the info?"

She nodded, smiling benignly and Potter left.

Draco went to the front desk numbly. He was pretty sure he was in shock. Potter wanted him to come over and "reconnect" with him and his friends? Then again, it had been excruciatingly hard for him to get the words out.

Maybe he felt pressured to do it. Maybe befriending an ex-deatheater was the last thing left to do on his list of requirements to be some sort of Martyr.

Draco snorted at the thought, took the info Dee had written down and then quickly apparated home.

Normally, Draco went straight to his room after the appointments. He wasn't sure why today, he looked for his mother until he found her in the garden.

She moved over at once to make room for him and Draco took the spot without thinking. Somehow, sitting next to her here still felt like habit even though it had been so long. For a few minutes, they looked out over the garden wordlessly until Narcissa's inevitable question broke the silence.

"How was the appointment?" she asked.

"Fine," Draco said. 

He paused.

"Actually," he said. "It wasn't."

Instantly interested, his mother looked at him and waited.

"My shoulder," Draco said. "He tried to fix it and it was extremely painful. Then the idiot tells me I'm going to have to go through that again?"

Draco snorted but when he looked at his mother, her lips were pursed.

"Draco, don't you think it is worthwhile to accept a little pain now for the long term rewards?"

Draco frowned.

"Maybe," he said.

He fell silent, eyes falling to the beaten yellow grass. They never had yellow grass before, not a single blade of it.

"Anything else?" Narcissa asked.

Draco shrugged.

"He wants me to come over for dinner," he said lightly. "Oh and we really should send Mr. Mcguilvery a fruit basket, it looks like he destroyed my hip, royally."

Narcissa's face fell.

"Beyond repair?" she asked.

Draco frowned. 

"I'm not sure," he said. "We didn't actually get to that part before the whole, Potter asking me over for dinner thing happened."

His mother hummed and turned her attention back to the view, fingers drumming on the book she had been reading.

"I mean,  _why_ do you think he asked me that?"

Narcissa's lips twitched in amusement and under normal circumstances, Draco would probably march away in a huff, but he needed answers dammit and he didn't know who else to ask.

"Perhaps he wants your company?" she finally said.

Draco snorted.

"Unlikely."

The more Draco thought about it, the more sure he was.

"He said there was nothing stopping us from reconnecting. He just wants to build this weird, Utopian, post-war, paradise or something."

"Would that really be so bad?" Narcissa asked.

She opened her book again and then paused and looked at Draco, a glint in her eye.

"He might also just like you, you know," she said.

She turned back to her book and Draco was left staring at her while his heart raced.

He knew she meant it in a totally platonic, non-sexual way, but still, just the idea of it... That it wasn't too ridiculous to be voiced out loud...

Draco excused himself to his bedroom. Once there, for once, he felt too restless to sleep. He wanted to do something,  _anything_ that would take his mind off of Harry Potter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long everyone! It's a long chapter and I just couldn't stop tweaking it. :/ Please enjoy! the next chap will be up much sooner :)

Harry clasped his hands together and attempted his best puppy dog eyes.

"Please!" he begged.

Apparently he wasn't very good at the puppy thing because Dee just grimaced and shook her head.

"No way in hell am I going to be the third wheel on your date with Draco Malfoy."

Harry blanched.

"Date? It's not a date! People are coming over! Lots of people!"

"Uh huh," Deirdre said. "Like who?"

"You?" Harry said hopefully.

She shook her head.

Harry sighed.

"Hermione and Ron will come," he said firmly.

She smiled knowingly.

"Ah, a double date."

"It's not a--"

"Harry if that wasn't a botched attempt at asking someone on a out, then I don't know what is."

Harry sighed.

"If other people come, will you too?"

"Get a firm yes from someone and maybe I'll agree," she said.

Harry clapped.

"Great!"

Harry hurried to the back room and pulled off his healers robe, apparating to Ron and Hermione's flat the second it was hanging on its hook.

Hermione yelped at his sudden appearance right in front of her.

"Oh Harry," she said, clasping a hand to her heart. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

She continued on past him to the kitchen with a bag of groceries in arm.

Harry followed her but before he could say anything she took a good look at him with her sharp brown eyes and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Will you and Ron come over for dinner tomorrow?" Harry asked earnestly.

Hermione frowned at him.

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," Harry said. "Just dinner."

Hermione put down her bags slowly and gave Harry a look like she was seeing straight through him but just as she opened her mouth for a probing question, Ron walked in.

"Harry!"

He clapped him on the shoulder.

"How's it going?"

"Good, good," Harry said, grateful for the distraction. "Wanna come by tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

He groaned.

"Yes but mum will hex us if we cancel again. Hermione already did _twice_ on her."

She gave Ron a look, brows drawing together.

"Well maybe you should remember to tell me these plans _before_ I make important meetings for work."

"I told you!"

"You did not!"

"Alright," Harry said, backing away. "I can see you're pretty busy so I'll just--"

"Wait, Harry," Hermione said, remembering her original target. "Why are you so eager for us to come for dinner?"

"No reason," Harry mumbled. "Just having some people over and wanted you to join."

"People? Which people?"

Harry considered lying before remembering that his friend could more or less read his mind.

"Just Malfoy at the moment," he said nonchalantly.

Ron immediately howled with laughter.

"Progressed to dates now, have you? The physical relationship wasn't enough?"

Hermione snorted before managing to school her features.

"Why don't you try Luna?" she asked. "She was just saying she hasn't seen you in a while last time I ran into her."

"Great idea!"

 

O_'O

 

"Harry! How lovely to see you!"

Luna beamed down at Harry, who was hovering with his head in her fireplace.

She was carrying a large metal contraption that looked like some sort of torture device.

"Er, Luna, what is that thing?"

"Oh this?" she asked as though just remembering she was holding it. "It's for the garden. To keep the Swufflemums out of the house, you see."

Harry nodded.

"Ah, of course."

"Would you like to help me set it up?"

Harry shook his head.

"Actually, I'm trying to collect dinner guests right now. Are you interested?"

"Oh I'd love to join you for dinner!"

"Really?" Harry asked, relieved. "Great! It's tomorrow at seven."

Her face fell.

"Oh, tomorrow? I have a date."

"Oh..."

Harry waited for more but Luna didn't supply him with any names.

He sighed, nerves rising in him again and feeling less self-conscious with Luna, he explained.

"I invited Draco Malfoy over thinking more people would come but now everyone's busy."

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Have you asked Neville?"

"No," Harry said. "I'll try him next."

Luna smiled.

"Well, perhaps next time."

Harry nodded, taking the dismissal.

"Right, for sure. Good luck with the--"

"Swufflemums," she said patiently.

"Right."

"Oh and Harry," she said over her shoulder before he pulled his head back into his flat. "Have fun on your date."

"What? No--"

Harry watched her retreating back and sighed heavily.

He sat back into his flat long enough for the fire to take him to Neville's house the next time he leaned his head into it.

To his surprise, Neville and Seamus were animatedly discussing the merits of blondes versus brunettes when Harry's head arrived in the fireplace.

Harry raised a brow, wondering how this had even gotten started while Seamus began a tirade and then stopped mid sentence when his eyes landed on Harry.

"Oh, Harry," Neville said following Seamus' gaze. "Why don't you come in?"

"Yes! We need a second opinion, blondes or brunettes?"

"Er," Harry chuckled awkwardly. "I'm just here to see if either of you want to come to mine for dinner tomorrow night?"

"No can do," Seamus said. "I have to work."

"Neville?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sorry, I have a date actually," Neville said turning pink.

"Oh?" Harry asked, drawing the obvious conclusion... Wait, so then why did Luna suggest Neville?

Neville shrugged but didnt give any names.

"It's a first date," he said. "I don't want to jinx it."

"Dean might be free," Seamus suggested.

"Alright, I'll give him a visit," Harry lied.

As he began to sit back into his room he heard Seamus chuckle.

"Don't know why I asked _him,_ he's obviously into red heads."

Fully in his flat now, Harry sighed.

He hadn't actually dated since their break up almost two years ago. He didn't even know what he was "into" any more. Aside from work, of course.

For a brief moment, Harry actually considered inviting Dean over, but then Ginny might come along.

Harry shuddered.

His ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, and Draco Malfoy. As if he could possibly get a more awkward group of people into one room.

No. He knew a lot of people. He would just have to contact them.

Each and every one.

 

O_'O

 

Harry wiped his damp hands on his jeans and took a slow breath, trying to relax. 

He should have cancelled. He'd barely got a wink of sleep after exhausting all of his contacts to no avail.

Again, Harry almost scrambled for paper to write a hasty excuse and cancel but for the millionth time their conversation in the sitting room hit Harry over the head like a tonne of bricks, reminding him why he'd wanted to do this in the first place.

Draco didn't care of he spent the rest of his life in pain. He didnt understand why _anyone_ would care. He probably didn't have a single friend, no meaningful relationships, no sense of self-worth...

Then again, what the hell was Harry supposed to do about that?

It was almost seven. Any moment now--

The fire burst to life in green flames and Draco Malfoy stepped through in an ominous display of class. His deep blue robes and shining black cloak didn't so much as shift but he still took a moment to straighten them before glancing up at Harry who was standing nervously in the middle of his living room.

Draco gave him a quick once over that made Harry's stomach squirm. He hadn't expected the formal wear. He was only in jeans for merlins sake.

Then Draco glanced around the room, a small frown etching his brows.

"Where is everyone?" he asked slowly.

"Everyone had plans," Harry said awkwardly.

He scratched the back of his head, avoiding looking at Draco.

"I thought we could still eat though--er--so this is my place."

He gestured around and finally managed to look at Draco, who's expression was surprisingly blank.

"It's nice," Draco said, not looking around.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

He turned toward the kitchen, regretting his every decision in life that had lead to this moment. Magical Therapy Healing? What had he been thinking?!

"Er, I didn't know what you would like to eat, so, since it's just the two of us, I chose pasta. Is that okay?"

He glanced back, glad to see that Draco had followed him.

The other man was looking around with interest at Harry's things. His eyes lingered on the curtains on the window, the small table set for two, the mugs spelled to write uplifting quotes all day long and the decorative ceramic cow that Mrs. Weasley had given him as a house warming present. 

The cow winked at Draco and finally, Draco's eyes landed on Harry, just as unreadable as before.

"Pasta is fine," he said.

Harry managed a terse smile.

Well that was good at least. He'd been a little sneaky with his decision, since Draco clearly wasn't eating enough, the least Harry could do was feed him something high calorie and nutritious.

"Great," he said.

They stared at each other for a moment and when it became clear that neither of them was going to say anything, Harry cleared his throat and turned back to the stove.

He scooped a piece of whole wheat fuselli from the water, blew on it and tasted it. Satisfied by the texture, he lifted the pot and turned to the sink where the strainer was waiting and nearly bumped into Draco who, it turned out was peering over Harry's shoulder curiously.

"Careful!"

Draco backed away hastily and Harry poured the water into the sink while his heart raced.

He gave Draco a look and the blond's cheeks pinked.

"I've never seen anyone cook without magic before," he said defensively. "The average witch can do it. Don't tell me it's beyond your skill level?"

Harry did his best to ignore the insult.

"I learned to cook before I started learning magic, that's all."

Draco frowned and Harry caught his mistake at once.

"Potter, you were eleven when you started learning magic."

"I can take your cloak," Harry said. "It's pretty warm in here. Do you want me to hang it up?"

Draco stared at him for a long moment and then finally, pulled his cloak off.

Harry took it and practically ran from the room. He hung it up on the rack by the door and for a moment didn't think he could go back in there. Bringing up his childhood was definitely _not_ the way to dispel the awkwardness.

Sighing, he turned back to the kitchen and found Draco watching him through the doorway like he was expecting Harry to explode at any moment.

Harry grimaced and walked to Draco, stopping when only a foot separated them.

"Look," he said. "I invited you over so that we could start fresh. Get to know each other in a friendlier way than what we are use to. Just because no one else came doesn't mean we can't do that."

Draco didn't say anything.

"I know it's awkward but--"

"It's fine," Draco said and then he actually _chuckled_. "Merlin Potter, relax. I'm here aren't I? Imagine how awkward it would have been if you were the only guest at your dinner party."

Harry's face heated. Maybe he was wrong after all. Draco's self-worth seemed to be perfectly intact.

"And clearly you haven't hosted many dinner party's," Draco went on. "You haven't offered me a drink."

Harry's blush deepened.

"Right. I have wine, milk, water--"

"Wine will do," Draco said quickly.

Harry opened the bottle of merlot and filled two glasses and finally realized that maybe this was Draco being _nice._  

Harry glanced at the blond and found him watching him openly. He smiled a little when Harry caught his eye, just a slight tilt of the lip but it made Harry grin despite himself.

He handed Draco a glass and clinked his against it before taking a sip.

Draco followed his lead, watching Harry all the while.

He didn't take his eyes off of Harry the whole time he served the food. He looked at him the same way he'd looked around Harry's kitchen, but somehow, it didn't make Harry self-conscious anymore.

Just the fact that Draco was here, willing to try to move past their strained relationship... It was like their was hope in the world after all.

They sat down across from each other at the table. Harry served Draco more than was probably necessary, and then so he didn't feel bad, served himself just as much.

Draco didn't say anything about the food after the first bite and nothing after the second.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked, biting his lip. "You don't have to eat it if you don't."

Draco raised a brow at him.

"I had no idea you were so insecure, Potter," he said, and then more gently. "It's good."

Harry sighed in relief and began to eat.

"I never cook for people usually," he said by way of explanation.

Draco nodded and they fell into a silence.

Harry refilled their glasses, racking his brain for conversation while he ate.

"Should we try to get to know each other then?" Harry finally asked. "That was the whole point, right? You can tell me something about you and I'll tell you something about me."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"You start," he said.

"Alright," Harry said. 

He hadn't expected such immediate agreement and searched for something deep.

"Okay, I've got it. I have a serious sweet tooth."

Draco paused with his glass half way to his lips and gave Harry an incredulous look.

"I _know_  that, Potter. Merlin, everyone knows that. Your diet at Hogwarts consisted of treacle tart and pumpkin juice."

Harry blinked at him.

"I see." He didn't want to point out that most people from the other houses were probably too preoccupied to notice what his diet consisted of. "I do like pumpkin juice."

Draco snorted. 

"Thank you for this enlightening information."

"Well what about you?" Harry demanded. "What's something about you that I don't already know?"

Draco thought deeply for a moment and then nodded to himself.

"I use to actually believe that money could buy anything."

Harry nearly choked on his pasta laughing.

When he finally gained control of himself Draco was surprisingly red, glaring at Harry.

"Oh come on," Harry said. "You bought your place on the Slytherin Quidditch team when you were _twelve_. Literally the first conversation we had, I'm pretty sure you were trying to buy my friendship with how rich your family was. Obviously I know that about you."

Draco's glare intensified.

"This is a stupid game," he snapped.

He took a gulp of wine.

"We're doing it wrong anyway. We should be asking each other things we don't know about each other, not guessing what the other person doesn't know about us."

Harry finally stopped chuckling but his smile wouldn't fade and Draco, looking at him, pursed his lips.

"Okay," Harry said. "So that's my question. Do you really not think that any more?"

"Of course not," Draco said tersely. "Other wise, apparently I would have won every Quidditch match. Alright, It looks like we need to start with the basics. What is your favourite colour?"

"I don't really discriminate," Harry said. "I like all colours."

Draco sighed heavily.

"Of course, Harry Potter's favourite colour is rainbow."

Harry laughed.

"Well what's yours?"

"Green," Draco answered easily.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Draco rolled his eyes and they both fell silent, thinking.

"I've got one," Harry said.

"It's my turn."

"Did you have many pets growing up?" Harry asked, ignoring him.

"Just my owl," Draco said. "I wasn't allowed any pets. You?"

"Same," Harry said.

He pushed away thoughts of the Dursleys and the long list of things he had never been allowed.

"Are you still in touch with anyone from Hogwarts?"

Draco frowned.

"It's _my_ turn Potter," he said.

"You asked me if I had any pets," Harry reminded him.

Draco's frown turned into a scowl.

"I forgot you play dirty," he grumbled. "I met up with Goyle not long ago."

"He's the only one?" Harry asked.

Draco just glared at him until Harry caught on to what he'd done.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat. "After you."

Satisfied, Draco straightened in his chair and polished off his glass of wine before looking Harry in the eyes.

"What happened to the weaslette?"

Harry grimaced. And Draco said Harry played dirty.

It was fine, Draco clearly forgot that Harry had spent years being hounded by reporters.

"What happened to her?" he repeated airily. "Nothing. She's living close to home, she is on the reserve for the Harpies, she's fine."

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Why is she not _fine_ with you?"

"It's my turn!" Harry said quickly. His heart was racing and he fought for something to ask.

"Do you visit your father?" he blurted.

Draco stiffened and Harry's eyes widened in shock.

He hadn't meant to ask that. He'd just wanted to distract Draco.

For a long moment, they stared at each other and then finally, Harry cleared his throat and took a minute pouring them each a large glass of wine while he wondered if their was a way to back track this conversation or if he should just give up and send Draco home.

"I kept in touch with Blaise for a while," Draco suddenly said. "Pansy too, but we've mostly lost touch by now."

It took Harry a moment to realize that Draco had indeed backtracked, all the way to Harry's previously unanswered question.

Relief and gratitude and surprise flooded Harry all at once.

"What about you?" Draco continued.

Swallowing, Harry nodded.

"Yeah I'm still in touch with a lot of people. The Weasley's, Hermione, Luna, Seamus, Hagrid and Mcgonogal, Neville--"

"I get it," Draco interrupted.

Harry grimaced and looked down at his food, pushing it around a few times.

At least they were trying, he supposed, but for a brief moment there, it had looked like he and Draco could possibly get along, despite the odds.

They finished their meals in silence. Their wine too.

Harry hesitated poring another glass, sure Draco was ready to run home and obliviate this awkward night from his memory.

With a sigh and a determined look on his face, Malfoy surprised Harry yet again by taking the bottle and emptying it between them.

"The answer is _no_ ," he said, before Harry could even take a sip. "I don't visit him. I don't talk to him or send him letters."

Harry took a deep gulp of his wine. He felt a little fuzzy from it already and suspected this conversation was only happening because of it.

Malfoy followed his lead, nearly finishing his glass before glancing at Harry as though unsure if he should ask.

"Go ahead," Harry said. "I'm an open book."

Draco swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Alright. My question from before... I'm just wondering how you ended up here, I suppose. I thought you'd be an auror, married and with a few kids by now, but here you are, single in a small flat with your own medical practice."

Harry suddenly regretted encouraging the honesty.

"I was hoping you were going to ask about something hogwarts related," Harry admitted.

Draco didn't say anything and Harry sighed.

"That's a loaded question. I don't even know what to say."

He took a long swallow of his wine, unintentionally finishing the glass while his mind raced.

"You know how you have all these ideas about yourself and then you realize that that's all they are, _ideas,_ they're not reality."

He looked at Draco, finding the other man watching him intently, food and drink forgotten.

"I woke up one day," Harry went on, "and I realized that what I was doing, none of it was what I wanted. It was just all what I thought I should do."

"I think I know that feeling," Draco said.

The honesty in Draco's gaze propelled Harry, despite himself.

"I spent my entire life doing everything that everyone else wanted me to do. Maybe I did it because I felt like I needed to prove my worth or something. Not to mention some of it was just the right thing to do," Harry admitted. "But I don't have to do that anymore."

He bit his lip. He didn't think he'd ever come this clean about the situation before, except one time in a very frank conversation with Hermione after the breakup.

"I realized I was sick of all the excitement," Harry admitted. "I wanted something peaceful, but I still wanted to help people. That's where my carreer came in. And as for the breakup... Ginny wanted more than that."

He rubbed a hand through his hair. After all this time, he still felt like it was wrong to talk about her in any way that could be perceived as negative.

"She's this _amazing_ person," he said. "Full of energy and life. She wants travel and excitement and fun all the time. It's great, but we just didn't fit together anymore."

For a long minute Draco was silent, watching him.

"Well, you are just full of surprises tonight," he finally said. "First of all there's _this_ , which I'm not entirely sure what it is."

He indicated the food.

"It's lentil bolognese," Harry said self-consciously. "I wanted to find something different for you, I thought--"

"Well it's delicious," Draco interrupted. "Then there's the wine, also surprisingly good--"

"Okay, I have _some_ taste--"

"Then there's the fact that this hard-headed person I always knew seems to have become more..."

He trailed off, eyes searching Harry and Harry found his heart racing because he wanted it to be something good. He wanted Draco to think something nice about him, and Merlin, he'd poured his heart out, he deserved it.

"More what?" Harry prompted.

"More selfish," Draco finally said.

Harry flushed and looked away but a hand landed over his on the table and Harry froze.

"It's a good thing," Draco whispered.

Harry swallowed, his eyes landing on theirs on the table and he found he suddenly couldn't stop thinking about what had never been mentioned yet; the reason for Draco's reappearance in his life. The reason he'd showed up at his practice that day.

He turned his hand up and Draco didn't seem surprised when their palms met. He didn't pull his hand back and he didn't look away until Harry spoke.

"What about you?" Harry asked. "What do you do for yourself?"

Draco looked away but before he drew back completely Harry squeezed his hand in his and Draco seemed to reconsider, allowing them to stay entwined at the last second.

Harry knew if anyone could see them now, if _Ron_ could see them, the jokes would literally never end. No one else was here though. Just him and Draco and some strange, vulnerable air between them that Harry didn't completely understand.

Maybe it was nothing more than what Narcissa had told him. Maybe it was all sympathy and Harry wanted to understand and comfort because that was part of his nature. Either way, it felt right to hold Draco's hand and the other man didn't show any interest in letting go.

He was gazing down at them, expression clouded.

"Well, now I know everything about you," Draco eventually said.

Harry snorted.

"You don't know everything about _me_ though," Draco went on a hint smugly. "You got something wrong earlier."

Harry frowned.

"What? No I didn't."

Draco smiled softly and finally looked up at him.

"You did."

He licked his lip, a quick swipe, as though they'd gone dry.

"Back when we first met, I wasn't trying to buy you. I was trying to impress you."

Harry didn't know what to say. 

A small smile tugged at his lips and he couldn't suppress it.

"Really?" he asked.

Draco shrugged and finally pulled away, but Harry couldn't let that statement go as easily.

" _That's_ how you tried to impress people back then?"

Draco scowled at him.

"I was eleven," he said. "I quickly upgraded to buying people after that, as we discussed earlier. It worked a lot better."

Harry laughed outright at that.

"So now what do you do to impress?"

"Now?" Draco thought for a moment. "Honestly?"

Harry nodded.

"I mostly just hide in my room and hope no one hexes me."

Harry's brows shot up at the statement, mostly because judging from his last visit, Harry was sure it was true.

The way Draco said it though, like no amount of money would ever be enough again and he was out of ideas, made Harry burst into laughter.

Draco laughed with him and when the chuckles dwindled down, Harry was left shaking his head in amazement.

He hadn't actually expected this dinner to work and yet somehow here they were laughing together.

The conversation was easy after that, both steering away from anything too heavy. 

Harry was surprised how many times Draco made him laugh.

The dry remarks he was sure would normally irritate him, when said with a smile or a wink seemed to have a very different effect.

Finally, when Harry's legs were starting to go numb from sitting in the same dining room chair for hours and the room was starting to sway from all the wine, the conversation began to dwindle.

"I suppose I should get going," Draco said hesitantly.

Harry hated to agree, but he had an appointment first thing in the morning so he nodded, nearly missing the disappointment in Draco's eyes.

The other man quickly looked away and pushed to his feet.

Harry followed him all the way to the fireplace, realizing not for the first time that right now, he might be the only human Draco interacted with aside from his mother.

"Wait," Harry said, just before Draco stepped into the fireplace. 

Draco stopped at once, almost as though he'd been waiting for Harry to stop him.

He must have remembered the cloak too.

Harry pulled it from the rack and held it out to Draco.

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment and then finally stepped up to Harry to take it. He didn't let go of the fabric though, just stood there, staring into Harry's eyes, like he didn't want to leave.

"You know you can come over any time," Harry said. "No need to impress _or_ buy me."

His attempt at lightening the mood didn't go over quite as planned because Draco's expression only darkened.

"Yes, I'm beginning to guess that's true," he said.

The moment continued to drag on and Draco wasn't leaving, and wasn't taking his cloak and wasn't backing away. He was looking at Harry like he was waiting for something but unless he was going to spell it out for him, Harry didn't think he was ever going to figure it out.

"Okay, well, have a good night then," he said.

Draco blinked.

Finally, he looked away, pulling his cloak over an arm and turning to the fireplace.

"You too," he said glancing back over his shoulder, then in a burst of green flames, he was gone.

Harry blinked at his empty fireplace, the last moments replaying and replaying in his mind until he was dizzy.

He'd definitely had too much wine, but that didn't really matter. Despite the oddness of Draco's departure, Harry was sure of one thing that he had never thought possible before; Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, could with some effort, honesty and careful treading, _maybe_ become friends.  
  


 


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm back ^_^ Thank you for bearing with my hiatus <3

 

Draco stood in the silence of the manor for several minutes, still in front of the fireplace.

Potter's flat had only been filled with the two of them and yet somehow it seemed more alive. Maybe Potter's very presence filled the place, made it buzz with energy and light.

In contrast, the manor felt like a void. The silence was so insistent that it felt, as always, like someone was listening to him, and it was quiet enough that he was sure-if someone wanted to-they could hear his every breath.

And so Draco didn't make a single sound.

He held it all in, letting the quiet press him in on all sides, trapping him.

As smoothly as he could, Draco took one step, then another, until he was all the way in his bedroom, quietly sealing the door behind him.

It was silly, Draco knew, but coming from Potter's place straight here made it more noticeable. Still, he preferred the silence to the types of noises that had filled the Manor a few short years ago. Back then every creek and moan had set Draco on edge and he'd wished for quiet like this.

With a small shudder, Draco shook the thoughts away and sat on the edge of his bed, feeling more lost than usual.

He hadn't wanted to come home. He still wanted to be back at Potter's flat, drinking decent wine and hearing ridiculous stories. All while eating  _hand cooked_  food and marveling at the turn of the universe.

A small grin pulled at Draco's cheeks and he couldn't stop it, nor did he want to.

Potter was a terrible host.

He hadn't done anything right aside from making decent food to serve but that  _did_  seem mostly to be out of nerves.

For which Draco thought the reason was fairly obvious; he was the only guest.

There was that smile again, pulling at Draco's lips. It was such a foreign feeling, wanting to laugh, and yet he had spent all night doing it, a strange bubbling sensation forming in his chest, making him feel lighter and lighter.

He had thought it a few times by now, a gentle  _what_ _if_ _,_ that whispered through his thoughts on occasion.  _What if_ Harry potter did like him?  _What if_ he was attracted to him?  _What if_ he wanted to be with Draco?

What would it be like?

He'd glimpsed moments, since starting their appointments, of what it would be like to be touched or held by those strong hands. He'd felt, almost like an instinct, how Potter's loved ones must feel; secure and protected.

But what were fleeting thoughts that Draco always pushed away before they became legitimate desires, became full-fledged possibilities tonight.

_Potter only invited him._

He'd cooked for him, been so nervous he'd barely managed to look at Draco for the first few minutes. And then,  _then,_ the way he'd smiled at Draco...

Draco's stomach fluttered, just the way it had when Potter's generous grin first landed on him.

At first he hadn't even been sure, but by the end, Draco knew. Potter's eagerness to make a connection, his botched attempt at asking Draco over, the way he pretended others were coming, it all pointed to one thing; Potter  _was_ interested in him.

Draco's hands clenched into the fabric of his blanket.

It was like a floodgate opening. With the knowledge, want surged him, filling his entire body until he felt like he was drowning in it.

How had he ever pretended he didn't want him?

Now, Draco was suddenly sure that he always had. Maybe through all the fighting, all the rivalry and cruel words, some of it was fueled by the knowledge that wanting Potter was a disastrously bad idea. One that was an impossibility. Until now.

Draco took a shaky breath.

After a long time sitting, replaying over and over the events of the evening, Draco finally stood and changed for bed.

He didn't feel much like sleeping. His body was still buzzing with energy. Potter seemed to have that effect on him.

And that wasn't the only thing Potter seemed to have an effect on.

Draco sank into his bed, wondering if he could ignore the erection tightening his pajamas.

Until he'd felt Potter touching him, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had an erection. Sometime either before or after he'd had the accident, they had just stopped happening and Draco had been so lost in his head for so long that by the time he noticed, he didn't even care.

Masturbating seemed like an unnecessary attempt at feeling normal. He wasn't normal. His body wasn't normal. He didn't want anyone touching him. He didn't even want to touch himself.

But now, just a few weeks later, he was laying in bed and everything was different.

His shoulder was starting to feel better. He wanted to do things like going for dinners again. He wanted to feel warm, strong hands on him. He wanted to be touched and feel normal again. And because of Potter, he was starting to.

His hand drifted down and even the feel of it sliding down his chest made him shiver because he hadn't felt it in so long.

He laid his hand over his cock, feeling it swelling more in the warmth of his palm and shut his eyes.

When he slid his hand under the elastic and squeezed it at the base, his eyes almost rolled back. Was he always so sensitive? Or was it because it had been so long?

He began to stroke himself lightly, cock twitching in his grip. His head fell back in the pillows and Draco tried to even his breathing, tried not to come so fast when it felt so good but then he remembered Potter; the way his full lips stretched into a smile, the way his eyes glittered when he laughed and the way his hands pressed against Draco's skin. He could see him so clearly for a second, lips stretched around Draco's cock, warm eyes watching him while he sucked him, hands digging into his hips to keep him still.

Draco's hips came off the bed, straining into his fist while he came, moaning loudly into the silence.

When reality finally came back to him, he was still breathing heavily, his fingers loose and wet around his cock.

Embarrassment filled him, mostly because he'd forgotten to use a silencing charm--after all he hadn't exactly been planning that--and hoped desperately that his mother was asleep and didn't hear anything. More than that though, thinking about Potter so vividly while he did it...

Draco shut his eyes.

There was no going back now. There was no pretending that he didn't completely want him in every way.

Again Potter's smile filled Draco's mind, the way his eyes crinkled and his head tilted back and he couldn't find it in himself to even worry.

The idiot hadn't clued in the he should have invited Draco to stay--that Draco  _wanted_ to--but Potter's clueless-ness was half of his charm.

Draco smiled again as sleep took him and his last thought was that maybe, next time he saw Potter, he might kiss him.

⚡⚡⚡

Draco spent two hours preparing for Wednesday's appointment. And yet a full hour of meditating in front of the mirror was nearly obliterated by the ringing of the bell above the door as he entered. 

Nerves erupted in him.

You can do this, he reminded himself for the millionth time. He just had to remember to use his poker face and act like nothing had changed.  

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," the receptionist said pleasantly.

He nodded at her curtly and took a seat without saying any more. 

The moment Potter entered the room, Draco knew he was screwed though, because the awkwardness was gone and when Potter grinned at him, Draco smiled back, his insides squirming from the attention.

"Hi," Potter said brightly. "How was your week?"

"Good," Draco managed.

"Are you ready?"

Draco didn't think he'd ever be ready but he nodded and followed Potter into the massage room.

Potter shut the door behind them and gave Draco a once over.

"You look a little flushed," he said.

Not waiting for a response, he stepped forward, touching Draco's forehead.

Draco willed himself to stay still with all his might and after a moment said, in his most neutral voice; "It's hot outside."

"Ah, okay."

Draco let out a breath of relief as Potter finally took a step back.

"And how is your appetite?" he asked.

Draco frowned. He didn't know what exactly he had expected, but immediately jumping back into business wasn't it.

"It's fine," he said. "I remembered to eat everyday. I've been sleeping a bit better and my shoulder seems a little looser."

Potter lit up like a kid on Christmas and Draco found it hard to hold onto his fluttering disappointment.

"Great," Potter said, happily. "Okay, you know the drill, I'll be right back."

Draco waited until the door clicked shut before sighing pointedly after Potter.

He was tactless. It was a wonder really that he got to Draco the way he did.

And apparently one friendly dinner meant less to Potter than it did to him.

He got onto the massage bed, wondering how he had ever imagined that Potter would be receptive to a kiss.

It was almost laughable.

No, Draco thought, with the way Potter so frequently missed the point, he would have to wine and dine him, then tell him his intent and  _then_  maybe Potter would get what Draco wanted.

Sighing, he pulled the covers around him just as the door creaked open.

"Are you ready?" Potter asked.

"Ready," Draco said.

He steeled himself for Potter's touch, as always, surprised by how able those hands were of instantly soothing him.

"So..." Potter said gently above him. "Did you have fun the other night?"

"At your place?" Draco clarified, unnecessarily.

"Yes," Potter said.

He sounded nervous and a flutter of hope brushed through Draco.

His breathing faltered as he carefully thought through his response.

"I enjoyed spending time with you," he admitted.

Potter's hands slowed on Draco's shoulders and he resisted the urge to look at him. Still, his heart sped up and Draco wondered if Potter could feel it in his fingertips.

"Well..." Potter started, hands sliding over skin again, "maybe we could do something this weekend too?"

Draco swallowed, attempting to school his voice before speaking.

"That would be nice," he finally said.

Draco's entire body was alive with nerves as Potter continued.

He couldn't quite relax again and in the end that didn't matter because Potter wanted to work on his shoulder again.

It hurt just as much the second time.

Draco's fingers dug into the bed sheets and this time when he cried out, Potter grunted,  _a bit more,_  above him and kept going. 

The pain was so intense it was blinding and when Draco could finally open his eyes again, Potter was making soothing noises above him, both hands still on Draco's shoulder, cool magic numbing the area.

"I'm sorry," Potter said quietly. "It's all done now though."

Gasping for breath, Draco didn't know what to say. Even if it wasn't done, he couldn't do that again.

"Roll over," Potter said suddenly.

His body felt so drained that Draco almost couldn't do it but after a few tries, he landed sprawled on his back, gulping for air.

"Can  you breathe better like that?" Potter asked. "Do you want to sit up?"

Draco nodded and without a word, a strong arm slid under his back and Draco was hoisted up easily. The sheets fell around his waist and his his hand clung into the fabric of Potter's robe but it was only as air returned to him and the panic and pain fully subsided, did Draco notice.

Potter, for his part, didn't seem to mind. He was watching Draco with warm, sympathetic, eyes. His gaze didn't stray from Draco's face as a hand continued to sooth Draco's bare back.

Again, Draco was struck by the intimacy with which Potter could so easily operate. It seemed like the touches and heartfelt expressions were as natural to him as breathing and for the first time since their dinner date Draco found himself wondering... Maybe Potter was  just like this... Maybe it had nothing to do with his feelings for Draco, romantic or otherwise.

He could feel the whisper of Potter's breath on his bare chest, probably even count his every lash. They were so close together that if Draco wanted to act on his fantasy of kissing Potter, now was definitely the most opportune time, but retreating from pain, with his mind drawing maps about Potter's character, Draco found he couldn't do it.

Once his breathing returned to normal, and his heart decided to stop attempting to break free from his rib cage, Potter laid him back down.

Draco felt like a complete invalid for the first time since the accident, but with the sudden drop of adrenaline, he couldn't spare much thought for it, falling into a deep sleep the moment, Potter's soothing hands fell onto him again.

When Potter finally woke him up, Draco had no idea how much time had passed.

"I have another appointment," he said gently. "And we went a bit over time today. I can use the other room, so take your time leaving."

Draco blinked up at him, still trying to come back to reality.

"I have a few ideas for your hip," he went on. "But maybe we can discuss them on the weekend?"

"Of course," Draco managed.

He tried to push himself up, but his shoulder screamed and Draco nearly went back down again.

Potter put out a hand, steadying him.

"It should only be sore for a day or two," he said.

"And then?" Draco asked tentatively.

"Back to normal."

Potter's triumphant grin did something to Draco. Something just as dramatic as the procedure had been. His insides turned over and twisted the wrong way around and Draco had to look down, fix his eyes on his lap and will his voice to come out normally.

"Thank you," he said.

Potter beamed, touched Draco's arm lightly and left him a bigger mess than he'd arrived.

Part of him wished that he hadn't let go of Potter's robe. That he'd pulled him closer, felt more than just Potter's hands against his skin.

He pushed the thought down and gingerly got dressed, all the while thinking about the weekend. What were they going to do? Was Potter going to make him dinner again? This time, Draco would spell it out if he needed to.

His cheeks flushed at the thought.

Draco was well aware that he had never been like this, even as a pubescent teenager. The thought of reducing himself into someone who giggled after a boy and spent every waking hour obsessing over minuscule details was enough to make him shudder. He'd had too much pride for that.

But now, it was safe to say that Draco's pride wasn't what it use to be. And despite the fact that it was Potter-the last person he would ever want to feel this way with-did nothing to temper the fact that for the first time in years, Draco wanted something more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm having fun with this one... I will probably be cross posting to wattpad btw. :)


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